


My Name is Jeremy

by Pancakessonyourface



Category: Original Work
Genre: Psychology, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pancakessonyourface/pseuds/Pancakessonyourface





	My Name is Jeremy

“Where did you find her?”

“She was alone in the basement.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing. She was...doing nothing. She was just sitting...in their blood.”

“Whose blood?”

“Her parents. They were both dead in the basement. Their throats we slashed.” A humorless chuckle fills the silence. “I guess you could say she wasn't really alone, then.”

“Please stay focused, Mr. Dailey. What was--”

“Jeremy. My name is Jeremy. You know my name is Jeremy, yet you insist on calling me Mr. Dailey. Why? My name is Jeremy,” he keeps repeating, his eyes no longer looking at the investigators from across the metal table. The slight echo of his fingers tapping the surface of the table can be heard clearly from every corner of the room. He glances up at the two men who have their eyes locked on him, watching his every movement.

One of the investigators makes a note on his pad of paper. He looks up again, trying to see what the investigator has written, only to see he is purposely covering the note with his arm. His hand is still clutching the pen, trying to give the illusion of his arm simply being in a resting position, but that's not possible. They are trying to hide things from him. People are always trying to hide things.

“Alright, Jeremy, may we continue with our questions?” the investigator, the one writing, asks politely, leaning backward slightly. The investigator's posture holds despair. Jeremy narrows his eyes upon evaluating the man's posture.

“I suppose. Thank you for using my name. My name is Jeremy,” he confirms once again. The investigators exchange a glance before the one writing makes yet another note, only to cover the pad with his arm again.

“As I was saying before,” the other investigator starts, “what was notable about the room?” he leans forward slightly. Jeremy leans backward slightly to compensate for the investigator's movements. Another note is quickly inked onto the paper.

“It was rather dark...” he trails off, once again casting his eyes downward.

“That's alright. Just do your best,” the investigator presses. Jeremy nods hurriedly, his fingers still tapping on the surface of the table.

“Well...there was no weapon left in the room, which means the killer probably hid it somewhere around the house,” he offers, shrugging. The investigator taking notes sighs and the investigator asking questions gives him a warning glance.

“No, what did you observe about the room itself?” Jeremy opens his mouth to answer, but abruptly snaps his jaw shut. The investigator takes another note. Jeremy clenches his fist upon noticing this before the tapping of his fingers starts again, but this time even louder and quicker. Another note.

“What are you writing?” he inquires crisply. The investigator glances down at the pad of paper and then over to his partner. He subtly covers the paper with his arm, more than he already was. Jeremy's jaw tightens.

“Your answers to the questions,” he answers briefly. The sound of his fist striking against the metal table reverberates off of the walls. Another note.

“No, you're lying. I know you're lying,” he spits, eyeing the investigators viciously. The investigator taking notes sighs and drops the pen. Upon hearing the clang on the metal table, Jeremy's eyes snap to the discarded writing instrument. The investigator plasters on a fake smile on his face and leans toward Jeremy.

“You caught me,” he grins. “In all honesty, I've just been sitting here writing about how much of an idiot I think this guy is,” he gestures to his partner, who mocks offense. Jeremy furrows his brows before relaxing his posture and smiling. He laughs a little.

“You're silly,” he decides. “A little rude,” he purses his lips, “but definitely the silly kind,” he nods in confirmation. The investigators also relax their postures and another note is taken, this time sending a wink to Jeremy who chuckles in response. He nods to his partner who folds his hands on top of the table.

“Alright, Jeremy, are you ready to tell me what you observed about the room?” he presses. Jeremy nods.

“It was pink, oddly enough. It was a concrete basement, but they had painted it a soft pink color. That must have been her room. Rather cruel, don't you think? To make a little girl live in a basement. Even if it is a nice color.” The investigators nod in agreement.

“Right. Was there anything else in the basement?”

“Just a bed and a dresser. They were pink too. Well, the bed had blood on it, so it was pink and red,” he laughs to himself. Another note.

“Now, I want you to think very hard about this next question. Can you do that?” Jeremy nods. “Alright.” The investigator hesitates for a moment. “Jeremy, did you know the little girl and her parents?” Jeremy immediately shakes his head. Another note.

“No, I had never seen them before. Too bad. I bet they were nice,” he lowers his eyes. The investigators exchange another glance.

“Are you sure? Maybe you met them at a store, or they were friends of a friend?” the investigator offers. He shakes his head again.

“I'm positive.” The investigator clenches his hand around the pen.

“Mr. Dailey, did you kill the little girl's parents?” Immediately after the question finishes coming from the investigator's mouth, Jeremy is on his feet in defense, his chair crashing onto its side.

“I knew it!” he screams. “I knew you were only trying to frame me! You're trying to get me in trouble! You're trying to make it seem like I killed her parents when _you_ must have! You're trying to confuse me! My name is Jeremy. My name is Jeremy.” He slams his palms against the table and leans toward the investigators. “It won't work. I'm smarter than you are,” he growls. He pounds his hand on the table once more before leaning back and turning so the investigators are no longer in his sight. Neither of the men say a word. 

The two investigators silently exit the room, locking the door behind them. Hearing the click of the lock falling into place, Jeremy turns around. He picks his chair up from the floor and sets it back upright, sitting down in it. He places his elbows on the cold surface of the table and rests his head in his palms. A moment later he hears the door being closed and the little girl sitting in one of the chairs across from him. He smiles gently at her.

“I didn't think they'd let you near me. They think I killed your parents, you know,” he says bitterly. She giggles. 

“I know you didn't, Jeremy. You're very nice. You let me out of the basement. It was very lonely and dark down there before you came.” He grins. 

“My name is Jeremy,” he nods. 

The doctors watch the image of the patient displayed on the monitor. He's speaking to the empty chairs in front of him. One of the doctors turns up to volume to hear him. 

“He's speaking to his sister again,” he observes, taking down a note on the same pad of paper. The other doctor nods. 

“Trial forty-two. Patient Dailey comma Marcus, twenty-two years old, shows no signs of improvement. He is still referring to himself by the name “Jeremy”. He has no memory of his parents until after he murdered them, to which he believes them to be strangers. He does not remember killing them and becomes aggressive when it is offered that he harmed them. Patient's moods can quickly shift. He still speaks to a hallucination of his younger sister, Miranda. We will induce short-term memory loss and test a new approach.” the doctor concludes, turning off the recorder. He glances at the monitor. 

“It's sad,” he starts, staring at the image of the young man speaking to the projection of his own insanity. “Their parents hid her in the basement to protect her from him. They thought they could fix him,” he says dejectedly. The other doctor glances at him. 

“Don't we also believe the same thing? That we can fix him?” he asks. 

“I'm not so sure anymore,” he exhales, turning off the monitor. 

 


End file.
